Never Forgotten
by Servant of Anubis
Summary: ONESHOT. There are somethings that haunt China's thoughts, things that he didn't think Japan was capable of. Slight RussiaxChina.


A short oneshot that struck me at random yesterday morning.

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The end of the Second World War didn't mean the end of conflict for China. The revolutionaries whose civil war had been disrupted by Japan's invasion picked up right where they left off, and the exhausted nation barely had time to comprehend what was happening before he was meeting a new boss. He didn't mind much, actually; after the horrors of the war, Tongzhi Mao had some surprisingly good ideas and China found himself talking with Russia more and more at world meetings, which is what they were doing now, in the spare time before the meeting started. They chatted about the importance of a nationalized agriculture and why a nation-wide free education system was far more effective than individual privatized institutions, and it was during these talks that China stole glances at Russia over the rim of his teacup and wondered about silly things like why Russia seemed to hide his maturity behind a childlike attitude and the how the sunlight could possibly light up his violet eyes like that. When Russia called him tovarishch he felt a warm glow inside that he hadn't thought himself able to feel after everything he had been through in the war.

Russia shifted his gaze over China's shoulder as the door opened. "Ah, America, I was worried you would not make it!" The huge country stood and moved to shake hands with the blue-eyes hero, the tension between them palpable. China stood as well and bowed politely, and as he straightened up, he froze.

Shadowing the young country was Japan, quiet and meek and humble as ever. He wasn't wearing his uniform—of course not, he was forbidden a military under the constitution America wrote for him. His dark eyes meet with China's own, and the nation struggled to breathe, he couldn't move.

"Chuugoku," Japan started softly, sadly, but at the sound of his voice China was broken out of his stupor. He bolted from the room, past the other nations gathering for the meeting, down hallways and through rooms until he found a deserted area and sagged against the wall, heart racing, breath coming in short shallow little gasps.

Oh gods, he felt sick. He had thought- he had thought he was okay now. It had been two years since he last saw him, ten years since it had happened; after all this time, he shouldn't be reacting like this. But the events of those days reeled through his mind like some deranged film: bodies everywhere, men, women, and children, piled up in the street s; women and girls ripped away from their families and pushed to the ground, brothers and fathers shot when they tried to come to their defense; young men restrained and used for bayonet practice, screaming their agony at the sky until they passed out from blood loss—and through it all, Japan watching with cold expressionless eyes, as if he had temporarily forgotten that the people dying in front of him were actual people and not just bugs to be crushed under foot. And then Japan had turned those dead eyes on him and China would never forget the feel of it, or the feel of the earth under him when Japan straightened up and dusted off his white uniform, the simple action more degrading than anything he could have said and—

"China?"

He jumped, driving his elbow back sharply; Russia grunted and staggered back a step, an arm wrapped over his stomach. A country that huge should not be able to move that quietly!

"Aiya, I'm so sorry, Tongzhi Russia aru, I didn't—"

Russia waved off the apology. "Is okay," he said with a crooked smile. "I should have known better, da?" He paused, studying China's face, the wide-eyed look and tense stance, and frowned. "You ran away from Japan," he said with unquestioning certainty.

China flinched slightly at the name, and knew that Russia noticed; his eyes darted away, searching for something to focus on other than the Arctic nation's beautifully concerned expression, but there was a gentle hand under his chin, tilting his head up, and when their eyes met Russia asked softly, "Chto eto, tovarishch?"

And then China fell into his arms and cried, sobbing his grief and pain and rage into Russia's chest as the taller nation held him quietly and stroked his hair.

There are some things that can never be forgotten.

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Inspired by the Nanking Massacre's _other_ name. My first time writing China, ah...

Vocab:

Japanese- Chuugoku = China

Chinese- tongzhi = comrade

Russian- tovarishch = comrade; chto eto = what is it?


End file.
